Heart of Shadows
by Kormiak Rue
Summary: Fanfic of the online MMORPG Earth Eternal, Rating changed from T to M for Language, Blood and Gore
1. Prologue, pt 1

_Note: This is the introduction of a character I play in the game Earth Eternal, It in now way reflects the stories and quests in the game itself._

**Heart of Shadows**

The bright glow of the shattered moon threw a strange light over the city of Earthend.

A young Foxen soldier, a member of the Earthrise Defence Corps, stood in front of an old sandstone building in the Eastern section of the city.

After having been captured by the Anubians in the war, and finally being recaptured after months of siege, the city was still in the process of being reconstructed, and the East End was not high on the list of areas in need of repair, so the moonlight, and the glow of the nearby torch threw strange shadows on the ground due to piles of rubble and debris. He was deeply bored, having joined the Corps after the recent Anubian counter-attack on Bastion Island, up near Corsica, he had expected more action, maybe a few life threatening situations, instead, he had been assigned, along with five or six other fresh recruits, to guard that weird old Mage, Karn Vallen.

When he had first heard about his mission, he had been in awe, everyone had heard of Archmage Vallen, how the Avian's spells and magical know-how had been key in the destruction of the Anubian Teleport Gate, with which they could have gotten their whole army into Earthrise with little problem. But once he had met the old Mage, he had been, to say the least, greatly disappointed; the old man was constantly distracted by something or other, not to mention the fact that he stank of Gaia knew what kind of chemicals. He had grown bored of this assignment very quickly. Bored, just as he was now. It was his boredom that kept him from seeing the mist until it was wrapping around his ankles. _What the hell? _He thought, looking down at the strange mist. It was putting off a strange greenish glow, and as it began to build around his paws, he noticed the smell, it was faint, almost nonexistant, but to one who had hunted as much as he had, it was still destinct; rotting meat.

_**CAW!**_

He nearly jumped completely out of his skin, and looked up to find a crow perching on a nearby oak beam that stuck up out of a pile of debris. It stared at him, knowingly, and he shuddered.

It was at this point that he noticed that the glow from the torch was beggining to dim, he looked over and saw, terrifyingly, that the mist had crawled up the wall and was slowly snuffing out the flame. Then he heard the boots.

_**Tap....tap....tap......**_

Someone was slowly, calmly, walking towards him through the unearthly mist. He began to see a figure forming through the mist, a hooded figure, in a long dark robe or coat. A crow perching on his shoulder took off as he came closer.

"H....Halt..." He stammered, clumsily drawing his sword and brandishing it before him, in the direction of the approaching figure. The Apparition did not seem to hear him, and kept walking forward at the same, sedate pace.

"Halt, now!" He said, with more courage, but the Apparition still did not slow.

"HALT!" He shouted, and this time the figure halted, the hood tipped slightly, as though the beast within had cocked his head. Seeing his orders followed gave the young soldier a bit more courage, and, puffing himself up importantly, he said "Who are you? What is your buisness here?"

A voice, low and soothing, came from within the hood, "I am here to see Karn, he is an old friend of mine, I am sure he will be.....Happy, to see me....."

Something in the voice, paerhaps the way it seemed to lull him slightly as the Apparition spoke, or perhaps the pause at the end, set off alarms in the young soldiers mind. He looked around at the still thickening mist, and the two crows now both perched on the beam of wood, then back to the Apparition. "Did you do all this?" He asked, glaring slightly.

The Apparition stood silent for a breath, then said, quitely "You will let me pass, now."

There was a tug at the back of the young Foxen's mind, as though he should listen to the old Druid, after all, surely Karn would appreciate some company in the old cabin, out here all alone in the woods......

Suddenly, he found himself back in the city, leaning against the wall of the building, his head was splitting and he felt like he would be sick, but he was back. He turned back to the Apparition, fear clawing it's way back up his throat. Still, he somehow managed to stand up straight, and said, his voice shaking "No sir, I don't think I will."

The Apparition gave a little snarl. "Get out of the way, peasent!" Having grown up a free woodsbeast, and having never been spoken to that way before, the anger of the Foxen's wounded pride fought with his fear and won.

With renewed courage he lifted his sword so that the point was less the six inches away from the Apparition's hidden face, and growled "No sir, You will not be-" The remainder of what he was going to say was cut off as the hood raised, letting him get a look at the face beneath, but he barely saw it, as his eye's were drawn inevitably to the Apparition's. He saw two glowing red orbs, burning with a cold fire, then everything went black.


	2. Prologue, pt 2

_Note: My original intentions for this to be a short introdutory story have flown out the window. I have found myself liking this story enough to continue it off and on and even eventually connecting it into a couple of other stories later on. Hope you enjoy!_

Karn had been digging hopelessly through the wreck of a building that used to be his home, trying to salvage anything he could from the Library and the Lab.

He had been digging through the latter, on the ruined second story of the building, the moonlight shining through on him from a large hole in the celing, when there had come shouts, and then screams from downstairs, where his new "Guard" was located. Those young idiots couldn't fight their way out of a wet paper sack, even _he_, who knew nothing what-so-ever of the barbarous ways of martial combat,could tell that.

At the sounds from below Victoria, his personal bodygaurd, a female Fangren Knight who had trained in the great millitary acadamies of Rome itself, wheeled to face the door, her sword already out and held steady in front of herself.

They stood staring at the door for a full minute, though it felt more like an hour, before something began to happen.

When it did, Karn wished it hadn't. There was a strange greenish mist creeping in from under the door. Karn watched in rising horror as it slowly turned on itself and began to climb up the door, and when it reached the knob it slowly enveloped it. There was a creaking noise, and the door slowly eased open.

Outside in the hall, there was nothing but a wall of greenish mist and a few disemobodied shadows. Suddenly, from behind there came a loud tapping noise, as of something very hard hitting old wood. He turned...And felt the blood drain from his face.

There, on his old desk, stood two crows. One had a distinct patch of white running through the feathers on it's head. He knew those crows, he knew there master.

The Doctor.

He turned back to the rest of the room, and reached out and laid a paw on Victoria's shoulder. "Run" he said, quite simply. "Sir?" She questioned, her right ear flicked back toward him, but her full attention remained on the door. He opened his mouth to repeat himself, when there was a low chuckle from the the doorway.

They both looked in time to see one of the shadows detatch itself from the rest and walk into the room. "It's far to late for that, Vallen", whispered the unholy thing in front of them. The Doctor raised his hands and lifted back his hood, revealing a Feline face that may have been handsome, had it not looked so..._Wrong_: The iris' of his eyes were white, as though blind, though he could see perfectly, however, what surrounded them, that was meant to be white was as red as blood, and his fur was the color of darkest night. He wore a long black coat that scraped the ground at his paws, which were covered in a pair of boots best reserved for a fancy ball or party in Camelot or Rome, there was not a speck of dust nor a single scratch on either of them. Under the coat, a sword hilt could be seen, a Rapier, common in the Great Forest area, and in Anglorum. But Karn knew from personal experience that, though he was proficient in the use of a blade, that was not what you needed to worry about with The Doctor.

The vile beast turned that strange gaze toward Victoria, and Karn opened his mouth to shout a warning, but felt it die in his throat as he saw he was already to late: Victoria's eyes were glazed over, and her sword hung limp in her hand. The Doctor walked over to her and smiled, and took her sword from her hand and began to look it over, apparently admiring it's luster. Karn tried to conjure a spell, but found that he couldn't quite seem to remeber how. It was too late, anyway.

In one smooth, fluid motion, The Doctor spun around with the great sword whistling through the air in his hands. As he came to a stop, Victoria's head hit the ground and rolled to a stop at Karn's paws. He gaped silently for a moment, then looked up at The Doctor. "you...You BASTARD!" he shouted as the evil cat dropped the great sword on the ground next to the body of it's former owner. Karn reached over and grabbed an empty beaker off of a shelf and hurled with all his might at the bastard. The Doctor caught out of the air as though it were moving at a snail's pace, the he smiled. "Now, now, Karn, is that any way to act in the face of Death?"

Karn stared at that smile and suddenly felt a great pressure descend on him from nowhere. He couldn't breathe, he could barely see, and limbs were growing weaker by the moment. As he fell to his knees, The Doctor chuckled again, and walked over to him. He knelt beside the former Archmage, who now lay, weazing, on the floor, and smiled down at him, exerting only a small bit of will to continue the pressure that was slowly crushing the life out of his former teacher. For he had studied under two of the "Greatest" minds of their day; Archmage Karn Vallen, and Grand Druid Lunast. _Hmph_,he thought, _what pompous titles! I believe that the world will be a far greater place without either of them..._

As he stood to leave, Karn's hand reached out and grabbed the hem of his coat. "Cr...*cough*...Cro...*HACK*...*wheeze*...*sigh*..."

And Dr. Crowfoot smiled, and, raising his hood, walked out of the building and promptly disappeared back into the fog from whence he came.

...

All that was left of the corpses in the building the next morning was ash, grey and fallow.

In fact, no one might have ever known that something terrible had happened at all, had it not been for the fact that there was one survivor, though he didn't make a terribly credible witness.

The City Watch found the young Foxen who had been guarding the door curled up in tight ball in a ditch across the road from Vallen's house, he was shaking all over, and muttering nonsence about crows and green mist.

As it was obvious something had rattled the poor young beast's mind, a Druid who specialized in such things was called in. He was a kindly old beast in a green hooded robe, but the moment that the young soldier saw him he began to scream in raw terror.

The best that the old Druid could surmise was that the boy had been driven mad from fear...


	3. Chapter 1

_Note: Now, in order to continue forward in our tale, we must first go backward..._

Ten years earlier, New Badari, Northern Europe.

Oakholm was a small village. Truth be told it wasn't even on any maps. But small or no, charted or no, it was still home to one of the strangest stories ever told.

She was 10 years old when her family was killed, along with two other families, out on the Spearfish Trail, near Oakholm. The only reason she survived was that her mother had thrown her from their wagon, into some nearby bushes, when they came.

They were bandits of the worst sort, interested only in their own greed, and nothing else. Not the law, not the lives of others, not even eachother.

She watched as they slaughtered her family, she watched and slowly sank into shock and unconciousness.

Some time later, a family of Ursine came along the trail and found the grisly scene. They may never had known that there had been a survivor had she not awoken and begun to cry, they may have simply passed on, and thought it all just one more tragedy among many. But they didn't.

It was the son, Uther Wulfram, who found the young Bounder, laying where she had fallen amongst the bushes. It was he who picked her up, so gentle for someone so big, and carried her back to his family. Over the years, a strong bond would form between the young Bounder girl, and her new big brother.

Several years passed before the girl would speak. The Wulframs had not given her a name, knowing she more likely already had one, but they made her feel welcome, at home. She did not speak until the Oakholm Town Watch declared a sort of impromtu war on the local bandits, nearly two years after the young Bounder's family had been killed. The father, a big gruff Ursine named Skellen, was a seargent in the Town Watch, and it was his duty to lead his sqaud against a group of rebels holding an old abbandoned windmill, atop a hill to the east. When he walked out to join his men, the young Bounder ran up to him and grabbed his hand in both her own, "Please" she begged of him, "please don't go." None of the squadies had ever seen their seargent as anything but gruff and mean, so it shocked them to see him smile warmly down at the girl. "Now, now, little one," he said, his voice coming from deep down in his chest, "you stay here and watch over Ma and Uther, he may be big, but he's got a careless streak a mile wide." With this, he smiled down at her one last time and squeezed her hands in his own, then he stood, and a hard look came over his face as he addressed his men. "Alright, you stinking carrion, quit standing around and gaping like a bunch of hooked fish, MARCH!"

_one mile from the windmill, a day later._

This battle was not going how it had been planned. Of course, the fact that it hadn't actually been PLANNED at all might have had something to do with that. _Typical_, Skellen thought, _you can never get that fool in command to give good information!_ It was an old gripe of his about the leader of Oakholm, an old Ursine who, though being wonderful at politics, was worthless when it came to combat. He had sent them out without proper scouts, and no time to gain any real info about the number of bandits, nor how well the windmill might've been defended. Now, they found themselves in more of a brawl than an actual battle: The bandits were up the trees with bows, taking amazingly accurate pot-shots at him and his men, kepping them pinned down in a large group of rocks atop a small rise in the ground. Occasionally, a small group of bandits, usually about five or ten, armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons, would come swooping in and engage a number of the soldiers in hand-to-hand, which would force the soldier to stand, which would make him a perfect target for the archers. It was a tough choice, or a very easy one depending on how you looked at it, you either stayed down behind your rock and got killed by one of the melee bandits, or you stood and got shot. All-in-all, it was real cluster fuck. They hadn't even been able to actually reach the windmill before falling into the ambush. _Shit! _he thought.

An arrow zipped through the air and shattered against the rock he was hiding behind. Some of the men looked like they were getting antsy, so he raised his voice and called out "YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO SHOOT BETTER THAN THAT, YOU BASTARDS!" Some of the men near him smiled, and he smiled back. Then he felt a sharp pain just beneath the left side of his collarbone, he blinked a couple of times, rapidly, then looked down at the arrow sticking out of his chest. One of the damn archers on the other side of the hill had somehow managed to get a clear shot and taken it. Skellen slumped against the rock and slowly began to slide down it, blood bubbling up from between his lips. His men began to jump up and run to him, but two fell instantly, brought down by well placed arrows, the others ducked back down in time for another one of the bandit charges, stronger this time, nearly 30 beasts, to hit them. He stayed concious just long enough to see his men begin to be massacred, then everything slowly faded, and went black.

In the top of a tree overlooking the hill, a young beast in a black hood smiled. "Was that good enough for you, old beast?" He asked to the air.

The news came several day later, when a bandit arrow flew over the town watch, the squads banner tied around it, soaked in blood. The young Bounder, whose name was Maighdlin, slipped into her room, burried her face in her pillow, and cried herself to sleep. Her weeping was a painful, beautiful sound, like a swan's song. And from that night onward, Skadi, the mother, called her Swan, and her name became Maighdlin Swan.


	4. Chapter 2

_Note: I cordially suggest you read my friend TheOneWithAPurpose's story; Earth Eternal: Brotherhood of Tears._

Three years after Skellan died, on the day that Maighdlin turned fifteen, a stranger came to Oakholm.

He was a massive Ursine, bigger than Uther, his name was Gunter. He came in a moment of violence, and, though they did not know it then, he would leave in a moment of violence.

The bandits had raided Oakholm. There were dead and dying scattered from one end of the village to another. Some of them had stayed, to loot some more, and to have some 'fun'. One, a large Fangren, approached Maighdlin, a wolfish leer splitting his face. She balled her fists and stood to her full height of 5'11", tall for any Bounder. She had worked everyday since she had come here, and she was strong, stonger even than some of the female Ursine in town. She was prepared to fight. The Fangren approached. And her brother charged out of nowhere.

Uther plowed into the Fangren, knocking him to the ground, then he brought his foot down into the bandits face. Bones crunched and shattered, blood spurted, and the Fangren jerked, then lay still, dead, the cartilage in his nose having been driven into his brain. Three more bandits came forward, two from the front, one from behind. One of those in front thrust at Uther with his spear, but he calmly sidestepped and grabbed the haft of the weapon as it came by. He jerked the weapon forward, out of the grip of the Longtail who wielded it, then he reversed it in his grip and gave powerful thrust. The spear rammed through leather armor, flesh, fat, and muscle as though it were hitting nothing but thin air, the blade punched out of the bandits back, splitting his spine in the process. Uther released the spear, leaving the bandit to gurgle and drop to the ground. The one behind him carried a single-edged sword and a small round buckler, he slashed quickly at the back of Uther's left thigh, and the big Ursine dropped to one knee, hamstrung. Folowing the momentum of his slash, the bandit, a Bandicoon, brought the rim of his shield down on the back of Uther's head, bringing him down to both knees, and stunning him. The one in front raised his hand-axe, preparing to finnish her brother off, when Gunter showed up.

The massive Ursine arrogantly charged in, wielding a great war-axe the likes of which none in Oakholm had ever seen. He swept it through a wide arc, taking the bandit through the midsection and cutting him in half. He then turned to deal with two more coming at him from behind.

The Bandicoon raised his sword to finnish Uther off quickly so he could join the fray, when his knee gave out.

Well, it didn't so much give out, as it was forced.

There were four basic presure points taught to new recruits of the Oakholm militia within the first week. The elbows and the knees. Being joints, they were the weakest points of bone on the body, the elbows could be broken easily by hand, and with a few hard kicks you could take a beast's legs from him. The knees were funny, in that you could take them in two ways; first was a kick from the front, a hard, fast, downward blow, with all your weight and strength behind it, straight into the kneecap, forcing it backwards, forcing the thigh bone and the calf bone to seperate, massive damage, no recovery time, as the leg would be permenately broken. The other way was less devastating, but just as effective; the same kind of kick, hard, fast, all of your weight behind it, but to the back of the knee, in the crook, unless you're very lucky, this will not break the bone, but it will force the knee to react, to bend forward, effectively bringing your opponent to his knees.

This was what happened to the Bandicoon, he fell to one knee, his sword still held high, it's forward momentum frozen as the bandit tried to halt his fall. Fast as lightning, Maighdlin grabbed his sword arm by the wrist, and placed her left palm firmly against his elbow. With a quick push-pull, there was crack, and the bandit's arm was broken. She grabbed his sword as it fell, and with a fast spin, she ran him through.

She turned as she heard boots running up from behind. It was another Longtail, this one holding two swords. She stood, calmly, watching him. As he approached, he raised his right sword and swung it at her from above, looking to cleave her skull. She simply twirled out of the way, her momentum bringing her back up against his, she reversed the sword in her grip and impaled him from behind.

She turned back to face the rest of the village and found that it was all over with. The rest had been slain by Gunter and his axe. This was her first taste of actual battle. It would not be her last.


	5. Chapter 3

_Note: This chapter is very important to the storyline, so pay attention._

It was a few months later when it happened.

Everyone in town loved Gunter for what he had done. But though they knew they owed him Uther's life, the Wulfram family could not say the same. Where'as everyone else in town could not see past the fact that he had saved them, they saw the truth; that his arrival seemed a bit to well timed, and that he enjoyed the praise of the village a bit to much.

Not to mention the fact that the night after the fight with the bandits was when he first tried to get Skadi to go to bed with him.

After he first laid eyes on her, he could not seem to care about anything else, but knowing him for what he was, and still remaining true to the memory of her mate, Skellan, she would have nothing to do with him. This made him angry, and the more his attempts to claim her failed, the angrier he got.

Maighdlin was in her room the night it happened, looking at the arrow. They had brought the arrow that had slain Skellan home, and offered it to Skadi. The Ursine mother, however, had wanted nothing to do with it, and had thrown it out, but Maighdlin had snuck out later and stolen it back from the rubbish pile. She had secreted it in her room, under a floor board. She did not know why she wanted the hateful thing, it was crusted in Skellan's dried blood.

She had been holding it and crying softly when she heard the screams. She had hidden it back quickly, and snuck out of her room to the top of the stairs to see what was happening.

It was Gunter. He was beating Skadi, who screamed as the big warrior bore down on her.

Suddenly she heard a growl from over shoulder, and when she looked there was Uther, growling down at what he saw. But Gunter heard him, and looked up, "What do you want, boy?"

It was then that both Maighdlin and Gunter noticed the axe. It was Uther's wood axe, though there was no doubt that the double-headed weapon had once served as a battle-axe. Gunter looked up at Uther, "What are going to do, boy?" He sneered.

But Uther was beyond hearing. His growl turned to a snarl, and then a roar of pure hate, and he leapt from the top of the stairs, his axe rising above his head. So quick and unexpected was his attack, as was the ferocity of it, that Gunter had no time to react.

He was dead before he knew what was happening. He lay on the floor of their home, his blood running from the gaping wound in his skull.

The family was safe.

But the village loved him.

Uther had to leave.

He picked up Gunter's war-axe, and handed his humble wood axe to Maighdlin, "Protect Mother for me'' he said, his voice heartbreakingly like his Father's. With that he walked out of the cabin and didn't look back.

The next few weeks were a dim blur to Maighdlin. The trust the village used to have for the family fell, and a massive search for Uther began.

Uther. her brother was gone. She could barely believe it, though she knew it to be true.

The first person she had ever trusted after the attack on the old Spearfish Trail was gone. Gone to barter passage on a ship far away, at least that's what he told them.

Gone, and she would she probably never see him again.


	6. Chapter 4

_**Note: Sorry for the delay, here's chapter 6, hope ya enjoy.**_

It was several years later, When Maighdlin turned 18, that the news finnaly reached Oakholm.

It came to them with a troupe of actors and tinkers. One group would perform while the other sold little items and such, then they would split the money later, therefore both making a little money from eachother.

The troupe had been everywhere, from Camelot to Rome. It was at the latter that they heard the news, news that may not have even mattered to anyone, if young Maighdlin had not taken a job at the tavern to support Skadi and herself over the past several years. She was cleaning a table, and counting her tips in her head, when she overheard some of the actors from the troupe talking; "A terrible thing, if I do say so m'self" said a lean old Hart, who was one of the oldest members of the acting troupe, and very well respected amongst his companions, "Bloody dangerous buisness, travlin' at sea, to easy for things like that wreck to happen, eh, wot!" His friends nodded over their drinks, and Maighdlin tuned in a little bit more, out of habit more than anything else. She had gotten to where she would listen for news of Uther, and that meant anything about a ship was important, but she had pretty much given up hope of hearing anything real over the last few years. "Wrecked off the coast of Corsica, so they said, caught in a storm at sea" the Hart went on, "only a couple of the crew survived on a life boat, came ashore in Rome, they did, what were they, again, um, Bandicoons, I think-" one of his friends, a young, pretty Feline girl interupted, "No, no, old Tart, there was on'y one Bandicoon, the other two were Ursines" Maighdlin perked up a bit, listening more intently then she had in months. Tart, as his name appeared to be, glared at the young Feline, "Now, now, young lass, don't go interruptin' your elders whilst they're speakin', bad manners all 'round, doncha'know!" The Feline looked properly shame-faced, and ducked her head back to her drink. Old Tart continued, "any way, as I was sayin', two Ursine and a Bandicoon were all that was left from the whole crew-" the Feline spoke again, "They never said that, they said there might've been others who lived, but-" Tart spoke up in time to stop her, "Great Gaia, lass, if you're goin' ta keep interruptin', I suppose I'll just not tell the story!" The Feline quickly ducked her head back down and took a sip of her drink, and Tart snorted his satisfaction before continuing, "Anyway, they were the only known survivers, there ship was called the, er, the Emmer Essen, that's it, the Emmer Essen, from right here outta New Badari, as chance would have it! I don't rightly recall the name of the port they left from, but-" The Feline looked like she would speak again, but a glare from Tart silenced her, "Now, as I remeber it..." At this point, Maighdlin's work took her out of ear shot, but she had heard enough to peak her curiosity, enough that she knew she would go to find out at least if Uther had been aboard that ship.

Later that night, she lay in her bed, looking at it. She studied it by the light of the moon, coming in through her window. She tilted it, letting the moonlight catch it better, revealing it's appeearence.

The Arrow.

She looked at the tip, made of some black stone Gaia had coughed up long ago, it was razor sharp, and left a burning sensation in it's wake after cutting you, something she knew from first hand experience, as she had cut herself on it shortly after retrieveing it. Now, the stone was broken, and only a small portion of the original blade remained, they said it was like that when they pulled it out, indicating that it shattered inside of him, sending little shards and pieces throughout him...She shuddered and shook the thought from her, and took her study to the rest of the arrow; It's shaft was made of a dark Oak wood, commonly know as Blackjack, and it's feathers were black as well, probably taken from a crow or raven. But it's most distinguishing characteristic was a red line, painted around the bottom of the shaft, near the fletching. A shooter's mark, so that those who saw it would know who fired. Looking at it, she swore that one day, she would find the one who did it, and kill him.

She silently put the arrow away, and looked out at the moon, judging what time it was, then she listened to Skadi's breathing in the room next to her's, to see if she was asleep. When she was satisfied that all was right, she quitely rose from bed, and began preparing for her journey.

Alanis Dawne did not know why she was here. It had been nearly 22 years ago that her friend, Lance Westbrook was killed by the Anubians, and she figured by now she should've had her fill of revenge.

But she hadn't.

The Bounder had been a child prodigy. She had discovered she was a Mage very early in life. By the age of 3, she had nearly full control over the elements, which, needless to say, had led to a few...Embarassing household accidents.

By 10 she was a top student of Karn Vallen, the great Archmage, and by 15 she was a master at the control of fire and ice, two elements that, though very different from eachother, both had the ablility to cause major devastaion.

When she was 17, tired of waiting for adventure to come to her, she joined the King's Guard, in Anglorum. And it was there that she met Lance Westbrook, Gaia's Swordsman, the greatest Knight she had ever known. With his family heirloom two-handed Bastard Sword, and his signature move, The Blender, a double 360 degree circle that cleared a swath of blood and death for nearly 7 feet around him in any direction, he was a terror on the battlefield.

It was in the tight confines of the King's chamber, however, that he would meet his match, when a bandit's blade, meant for King Arthur Pendragon's back, met Lance's arm instead.

It was not fatal, but for a warrior who's family honor kept him from wielding anything but the great sword, it was crippling. And so, Gaia's Swordsman retired back to his homeland of Corsica isle, where he would fall in love, bear two healthy children, then die.

She was 20 when he retired, and in a fit of grief and rage she had left the King's Guard and went out on her own, to become a Bounty Hunter, among other things.

She was 36 when word reached her of Lance's murder at the hands of Captain's Medjai and Tabia of the Anubian army. She immediately saddled up her steed and rode off to book passage to Corsica.

Now, five years later she was 42 years of age and an Archmage herself, and she was still on Corsica, and still fighting the Anubians. Those jackals were stubborn bastards, everytime they got pushed back by the miltia, either here on Corsica, or on her neighboring island of Earthrise, they would simply redirect, and counter-attack. Over and over again, this kept on happening, like the latest attack, Bastion Island was no longer such a Bastion, and Northbeach was under siege. But more importantly, the buggers had taken Seaside Quarry, very near to Southend, the capitol of Corsica, it was a very important source of stone, which would be needed for both the repairs that would come later, and for ammunition for the catapults that would help them drive back the ships landing all up and down the coast.

Now, Alanis led a group of five miltiamen down a hidden trail towards the Quarry. Her every sence was alert for the first sign of trouble, yet when it came, it was a shock; They were creeping along, every one of them silent and alert for trouble, when an arrow simply appeared out of one of the soldiers chests.

As they all sat for a second, stunned, two more soldiers fell, then the Anubians appeared, more than 50 of them, all aiming bows at them. Now, Alanis had lived a good life, and there was nothing more she would have loved to do than send a firestorm sweeping into them. She would've been killed, most certainly, but she would have taken at least half of them with her. But there were the miltiamen's lives to consider, if that happened they would die as well, and she would not have innocent blood on her hands. So there was nothing for it, she dropped her weapon balt and raised her hands abover her head, slowly, watching as the soldiers did the same. _Ah, feck it all! _she thought, _This should jest be real feckin' entertainin'_. And with that, they were marched off towards Southbeach, and, no doubt, to the pleasent lodgings of an Anubian prison camp.


	7. Chapter 5

_**Note: Welcome to CH.7, oh, and if you haven't found it yet, I recommend that you try out my new series of short stories, Packmates, which also takes place in the world of EE. Enjoy**_

Maighdlin had been riding for nearly a month now, and it still surprised her that the world could actually be this big. Not that she was stupid, quite the contrary, but she had been in the tiny village of Oakholm for as long as she could remember, and, though intellectually she knew that the world was a big place, it was still surprising just _how _big. When she had first seen the city of Bremen in New Badari, she thought she must've fallen asleep and was dreaming, but then she entered the city, and knew that it was, indeed, real.

Now she was plodding along on her mount, exhuasted, getting ready to call it quits and camp for the day, when she crested a rise and saw below her the spires and battlements of the walls of Rome. She was finnaly here, and she was breathless. Rome was, for lack of a better word, titanic. A monster of a city, stretching as far as she could see. Dead in the center, big enough to be seen even over the walls, was a massive circular structure, like an arena, only much, MUCH bigger. She shook off her shock and continued riding down to the city gates, which were just fixing to close for the night when she arrived. The night watchmen let her through, then continued shutting the massive gates. "You're lucky, ma'am," said the soldier in a strange accent that she had been hearing more and more on the road as of late, she figured it was a local accent, but still coudn't get over the difference between it, with it's strange sounds seeming to add an extra letter or two to each word, and it's heavier stress on the S's and A's. and her own accent, which, from a life growing up in the far Northern reaches of New Badari, was harsher, more gutural, with the way it changed out V's for W's and the way it covered a T with a Z or S. The accents were different enough that she sometimes had trouble understanding what was being said to her, but this time she understood fairly well, and thanked him for not shutting her out. Her own accent didn't seem to phase the soldier, a Fangren, and he simply shook his head, saying "We don't shut out anyone, if they get here before the gate closes, but afterwards, in the dark of full night, it's just to dangerous to open them. Afterall, you never can tell what may actaually be on the other side." With this cryptic statement trailing in her mind, Maighdlin asked for directions to a good inn where she could stay the night and, wondering how she would go about finding the information she needed, she went there and booked a room. Though it was offered, she found herself to tired for dinner, and instead went straight up to bed, and fell asleep almost instantly.

...

Fynn Culaiin was feeling very, _very _grumpy, and for someone as used to smiling and joviality as him, that was not a good thing. He was a Bounder, and a Mercenary, and a good one, at that. Unafraid to do what it took to get the job done, he was lethal with his Falchion and Tusk Handled Axe, a combo he could use to great affect against even shielded opponents. But, unfortunately, one thing he didn't do well was work with others, and, as might be implied by that fact, he also didn't take orders well. When the Anubians had planned their latest attack on Corsica, they had decided, after much consideration on the subject of their many recent defeats on the Islands, that a few extra hands might not be a bad thing, and so they had put out that they were offering 500 gold pieces to any Mercs who would help them. Now, Fynn had only ever had one real love interest in his life: Money. And he found himself irresistably drawn towards the offer of that much gold. Only now that he was here, did he realise just how much he disliked Anubians. They were bossy. And loud. And they stunk, sort of like old socks, but worse. And when one of the smelly buggers had ordered him about a little to much, he had stood up and belted him right in the kisser, knocking the big Anubian flat on his bum, and loosening several of his teeth. Of course, at the time, Fynn didn't know, and probably wouldn't have cared, that this was Commander Jakar, the second in command of the attack force. And now he found himself in a prison cell in the Anubian camp near Southend, eating one meal of grule a day, if he behaved, and sleeping on a ratty, lice infested blanket thrown on the ground. In short, he was very, _**very **_grumpy. He was lying on his mat, going over in his mind about how much he'd like to slit Jakar's gizzard, when he had heard the guards approaching. The first time they ever tried to open his cell, it had just been two of them, and he nearly escaped, it was only his desire to kill both the guards with his bare hands that delayed him long enough for them to recapture him. One guard had, in fact, died, and the other was confined to the Healers tents for a whole week. After that, they had never come to his cell without at least six heavily armed gurads. He had taken to smiling at them whenever they passed, a big, crazy grin, his green eyes sparkling with malicious glee. Before long, he had them thinking he was some sort of demon or evil spirit, and that it was only the iron in the cage that kept him from breaking loose and slaying all of them. Now they stood well back as the gate was opened, then they threw a hooded figure in with him, and he stood up. They slammed the gate closed and quickly locked it, and he smiled. They all turned and began walking away, a bit more rapidly then neccesary. _Supersticious fecks! _He thought, and then crouched down near the figure, which still had not moved, though it was breathing. He pulled the hood from it's head and saw, to his amazement, a female Bounder, unconcious, probably in her latter 30s to early 40s, but still in good shape, and, judging from the iron bacelets they had fitted around her wrists, she was a Mage, and a powerful one, to, if they didn't trust their iron cages to keep her magic contained. He did his best to make her as comfortable as possible, which wasn't much, and sat back on his blanket to wait. Given the ammount of pests that had made the scrappy piece of cloth their home, it was probably kinder if he kept it for himself.


	8. Chapter 6

_**Note: Sorry once again for the long wait, I just kinda didn't feel like writing there for awhile.**_

Maighdlin worse early that morning, though she had no reason to. It had been nearly a week since she arrived in Rome, and she still had no leads, but some part of her felt that today, maybe, she would finnaly find what she was looking for.

She walked downstairs and found the common room a bit quieter than usuall. All the patrons were setting around, muttering to one another, and throwing glances at the back corner near the stairs. She looked and saw an old Foxen setting there. She was clad in beads, and bones, and other odd things, and had a mug of a dark liquid, possibly strong liqour, in front of her. Maighdlin walked over to the bar and ordered her usuall breakfast, then asked the barman who the old Foxen was. "Oh," he said, lowering his voice, "that one is strange, some say, she used to be Druid, and had the ability to see the future. But then, her power became to much for her, and..." at this, he made a little corkscrew motion next to his ear, and shook his head. She ate her breakfast, and then was preparing to go out once more to search for clues, when the old seer motioned her over. She hesitantly walked over, and sat down when the seer told her too. Then the seer took a sip of her drink, and just sat there, looking straight ahead. Maghdlin was getting ready to stand up and slip away, when the seer began to speak:

"On your journey,

you will find,

that which you seek,

that which you wish,

and that which you have always looked for.

But beware,

For Madness and Death will hunt you,

and much sorrow they will bring,

before you can find that which all seek,

you must bring the fall of the Nightmare King!"

After this, she finnished her drink in a single gulp, and got up and walked away, leaving Maighdlin more confused than before.

...

Fynn was still grumpy. That bastard Jakar had dared to claim Fynn's sword and axe as his own after their little "ruckus" and now they were hanging by their belt form a post, just a few feet out of reach from his cell, well Jakar and his four personal bodyguards warmed up for a little bit of practice in Banalaah, an Anubian martial art, based off of the motions of a King Cobra, and comprised of quick, precise hand strikes designed to pierce through your opponents defences and deliver blows directly to his body.

The four guards, big, beefy Anubians who made up for what they lacked in brains with sheer brawn, readied themselves for combat. And it would be combat, too, for Jakar believed in training his soldiers with full force, each blow making contact, and if one died, too bad, he wasn't strong enough.

One guard rushed his General, planning on body slamming him, but Jakar simply sidestepped, and grabbed the beasts arm as he went past, and used his own momentum to pull him back into Jakar's jab, which broke the guards nose and put him on the ground, unconcious.

The second guard came in more cautiously than the first, slowly stepping forward, his eyes locked on his master. He jabbed fast at Jakar, but the General simply snatched the punch out of the air, and sent three rapid strikes into the guards face, taking him out for the count as well.

The third and fourth guards decided on a team effort, and rushed at Jakar together, one just a little behind his "friend". Jakar's tactic here was as deceptively simple as the rest, he simply waited for the one in the lead to throw a punch at him, and deflected it, using the move latch onto the guards wrist, which he promptly broke, the other guard came forward, and received a hard blow to the side of the head for his troubles, which sent him stumbling to the side in a daze. Then Jakar gave a fast strike to the back of the neck of the first guard, and the neck snapped, killing the guard with a single blow, and he spun to face the final guard.

The guard was scared, but the fear motivated him to fight, foolishly, and he threw a hard right hook at his commander, who blocked the strike with his left arm, then shoved the guard, breaking his stance and sending him stumbling backwards, at which point Jakar came in with a terrible wrath, sending multiple, hard strikes into the guards ribs, fracturing them in multiple places, then he finnished it with a hard palm strike to the chest, shattering the fractured ribs, and traumatizing the lungs. The guard sprawled backwards on the ground, hacking and coughing up blood. Two dead, two injured. Acceptable losses to Jakar.

...

Maighdlin was quite pleased with herself. She had managed to mostly forget the seer's cryptically disturbing message, and she had managed to discover that not only had her brother been on the Emmer Essen, but there was a good chance that he survived the wreck and washed ashore somewhere on Corsica or Bastion islands. Her only problem had come when she treid to book passage to the islands, apparently they were under siege at the moment, and the waters were crawling with Anubian pirates. She didn't know what an Anubian was, and she didn't much care, and she had told the last ships captain she had spoken to that, and he had laughed and said "the fact that you don't know what an Anubian is is quite obvious!" This made her furious, and searching for a ship had eaten up nearly two days before she finnaly decided that if a merchant wouldnt' take her, perhaps someone else would. And it was this thinking that brought her into contact with Captain Raven Drakar, a Foxen who ran a fast little sloop none a the Seafox, and who was quite happy to except another passenger, as he was already on his way to the islands to drop off some "merchandise" for a "friend". She didn't ask what exactly it was, and didn't particularly care, as long as he got her where she wanted to go. It was only later that she realised that she should care.

...

Fynn was still grumpy. In fact, you might say that he was, if possible, even grumpier. The Mage had finnaly come around a few hours ago, and he had intially been quite glad, as it had taken her nearly three days to wake, and she had been very groggy at first, but the speed with which it cleared confirmed to him that they probably used some drug or other to knock her out. They had gotten to talking, and when it inevitably came up that he was a Merc hired by the Anubians, the self-rightous little bitch had near blown a gasket, screaming at the top of her lungs that he was nothin g more than pig shit, and that if her magic hadn't been bound as it was, she would have burnt him to a cinder.

Now they sat at opposite ends of the cage, glaring at one another. Her only movements were to occasionally reach up and scratch a flea bite. Other than that, she did nothing but sat and glare, and he did the same.

At least, until the guards came with another prisoner.

Fynn turned and watched, grinning, as usuall, and the Mage, who had said something about her name being Alanis, simply sat and watched as the guards marched up, opened the cell, and flung another beast with a bag over it's head into the cell. When the guards were gone, she crawled forward and removed the bag. _Bloody hell!_ He thought, _What're de feckin' chances? _It was another Bounder female, this one bigger than the other, and much more heavily muscled. After the unbagging, they returned to their respective corners to wait for the newcomer to awake.

...

Maighdlin had been asleep, having feverish dreams of the past, present, and future, when the hand was placed over mouth, and she woke. Apparently, whoever it was hadn't expected her to be so strong, as they lost their grip as she sat bolt upright in bed, and grabbed her axe. She whirled to face...The ugliest thing she had ever seen, it looked something like a Foxen, and a little like a Fangren, but really, it didn't look anything like either. short, dark fur, pointed ears, and eyes of dark red, it looked like a demon, and smelled worse than one. It had had a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, but nietherof these protected it for long. After she finnished with it, she ran out on deck to find a ton of these things all over the ship, and another, odd looking ship pulled up alongside theirs. There were several of the creatures with bows trained on her, and her mind did a quick little dance as she realised that Drakar had betrayed her. Should she fight or surrender? her first thought was to fight, but there were just too many archers for that to be practical, and she had to live in order to find Uther. So she had surrendered, and they had taken her axe, bow, and hunting knife, and promptly knocked her out. And now she awoke in a grimy cage with two other Bounders leaning over her. "Ahhh!' she shouted in surprise, and they jerked backwards. "'tis alright there, lassie,' said the male, "Yer as safe as ye c'n be, which, argu'bly, isn't very safe." As she set up, he gave a little bow and said "Me name's Fynn Culaiin, professional Mercenary, at yer service!" At this the female snorted, "Don' trust him, young'un, 'e's fightin' fer them!" At this the Fynn glared at the female, "I done told ye, lassie, I was fightin' fer der _gold_, der's a big differnce, ya know?" The female snorted again, "Sure der is, me name's Alanis Damne, darlin', ye c'n trust me, him, i ain't so sure of" the two glared at eachother again, then Maighdlin asked "Fere are we?" her accent seemed to surprise them as much as anything else, and Fynn asked "Good Gaia, lassie, where'd ya get dat brouge, den?" whereas Alanis asked "ya don know where ye are? But ain't ye onna de Milita?" at this Maighdlin told her story and explained how she came to be here, at which Alanis became quite agitated. "Gaia forsaken pirates! Dey should all be burned outta de sea!" Whereas Fynn seemed to accept as just another part of the world. "Ahh, A fellas gotta make a livin', don'e?" This angered Alanis more, and she was one step shy of exploding again, when Maighdlin interupted, "Excuse me, but fen say searched me, the seemed to've left a hairpin in my pocket, I don't know how, but perhaps von of you might be able to pick ze lock with it?" They both stared at her for a second, then Fynn jumped over and snatched the simple little piece of metal from her hand as though it were some sacred artifact. "Aye, lassie, yer girl after me own heart!" He skipped lightly over to the door, looked around, then went to work on the lock. In the blink of an eye, the door was opened and they were free, at least, for now. For at that moment, Jakar and eight of his personal guard came to inspect the new prisoner.

...

Jakar and his men stood staring for a moment in dumb shock, then he snapped himself out of it and shoved two of his guards forward, shouting, "What are you waiting for? Get them!"

he watched as the guards walked up to the unarmed and unarmored prisoners, as one came up and placed his hand on the shoulder of the newest prisoner, a large female Long-Ear.

If it weren't for his fighter's eye, he may have never seen what she did, even so, it was so simple and fast that he nearly missed it.

She looked at the guards arm, then grabbed it, twisted, and broke it over her shoulder. Then she turned and jabbed the beast in the throat with blinding speed, crushing his windpipe, leaving him to drop to the ground, struggling for air.

Another guard went at her with his spear, but she simply sidestepped, grabbed the spear, and broke off it's head, which she then shoved into the mans chest, killing him instantly.

Two more guards rushed her with their swords drawn, but in a flurry of movement, she disarmed one and sent him to the ground with a broken leg, and used his sword to dispatch his commrade, then she turned and took off his head.

Half of his force gone in but a few seconds.

One of the guards came at her with a spear, but was felled with a quick slash to his throat.

Meanwhile, one of the other guards slashed at the Mage with his sword, but she rolled under the blow, and came up with the broken spear head held in her hand like a dagger, the guard came at her again, but she slipped past his next slash and cut his throat.

Another guard fell at the hands of the big one. Somehow, the fool had let her get behind him, and she finnished him with a quick slash that severed his spine.

The last guard came at the Mage, wielding a spear. Jakar knew this one would win, there was no way that some thing that was basically a dagger could stand up to a full length spear, but when the guard thrust at her, she simply knocked the spear aside and rushed in close, to close for the spear to be effective. The guard followed his training, and dropped the spear, and brought up his shield to defend him while he drew his sword. But he never got to his sword. The short blade of the spear head slipped under his shield and she did a fast double cut on the insides of his thighs, and he staggered back, his very life now jetting from the massive veins that ran between his legs.

He was alone, and the two females turned and began to appraoch him, but were stopped by a single word.

"No" Jakar looked and saw the arrogant little Merc who had dared to strike him. He should've kileld him then and there. The Merc continued, "He's mine!"

Jakar cocked his head, and stared at the Merc, and, though there were plenty of weapons scattered about from the fight, all the little Long-Ear did was crack his knuckles and grin at him. Jakar stared for a second, then leered, and undid the weapon belt that used to belong to this egotistical little fool, and threw it to the side, to be claimed by whoever was the victor. He had no doubt that it would soon be gracing his waist again very soon.

...

Fynn stood watching as Jakar stripped down to nothing more than his battle skirt. More guards ran up, but were stopped in their tracks by Jakar's raised hand, then Jakar dropped into his stance, his eye's serious and devoid of emotion. Fynn just stood there, grinning.

Then, slowly, he turned his back on Jakar.

He looked to his left, at Alanis, who sat cross-legged on the ground, her hands laying, wrist up, on her knees, her eyes closed. No help there.

He knew Jakar, had fought with him several times since the invasion of Corsica. he would never hear him coming.

He looked to his right, at Maighdlin, who was watching with wide-eyed intensity.

He would never _hear _him coming. So he watched Maighdlin.

He watched as her eyes began to flick between him and something behind him, as they began to grow wider, and as breathing became heavier.

He waited until her eyes were as wide as two diner plates, and her body stiffened, and her mouth twitched to shout a warning.

Then he waited a split second long, until a tingle ran up his spine as the hairs on his back wrose.

Then kicked backwards without looking, without thinking, pure instinct, and felt his foot contact solidly, and turned to see Jakar stumbling backwards, his amrs wrapped around his stomach where the kick made contact.

He readies himself as Jakar shook it off and came back at him. For the next seberal minutes Fynn played with him, Jakar would throw a jab, but he wouldn't be there, he would be behind him, where he would promptly kick Jakar in the tail and send him stumbling forward. Always kicks, never anything else. It was a special type of combat, known only by the Bounders. It was called Foot Fighting, and Fynn Culaiin was a master at it.

After several minutes of humiliating his opponent though, Fynn grew tired of the game.

Jakar was tired by this point, and came at Fynn with a single minded intensity. He trew a jab, expecting it to miss as it always did, but not expecting what came next.

Fynn ducked under the jab, and in the process leaned back on his left foot, while he lifted his right foot off the ground, and proceeded to send a series of kicks into Jakar's stomach, which was quickly followed by a roundhouse kick that sent Jakar stumbling back, in real pain this time. Before he could get himself back together Fynn was there, sending to hard kicks into Jakar's groin, and as the Anubian commander doubled over, Fynn kicked him the face with his left foot, then as it came down, jumped up and kicked him again with the right.

Jakar was in a tremendous amount of pain, and he found he couldn't take this. He staggerd backwards, and yelped, but Fynn wasn't finnished just yet. As Jakar stumbled back, Fynn ran after him and hopped up, his right foot landing on Jakar's knee, from where he preceded to walk up Jakar's body, planting his left foot on the Anubian's chest where he paused for a split second to look into his enemies eyes, and saw fear there.

At which point he spun kicked Jakar in the side of the head, and twirled off to land on the ground where he had been at the start. Jakar fell to the ground, his neck broken, dead.

The guards stood staring for a second, then they raised their swords and spears and began to roar. It was then that Alanis stood up from where she had been sitting. And the guards were silenced as hse held up the iron barcelets, or rather what was left of them, for they had been frozen ana had shattered into pieces. She smiled a terrible smile and, before the guards even had time to react, she began to chant, and the ground erupted into flame everywhere, any who were unlucky enough to get caught in it were burned to death, and it also made an amzing screen for their escape.


	9. Intermission, sad news

**A moment of silence, please, for Sparkplay Media is dead, long live SPM!**

**I want to appoligise to any readers, seeing as not only has it already been awhile since I posted anything here, But y'all still got a while yet to wait...However, I do promise that this terrible occurence will not halt my story, I will continue, I **_**must **_**continue! **

**To my faithful readers, Kormiak.**


	10. Chapter 7

_**Note: Sorry to've been gone so long, folks, Comp troubles. **_

Maighdlin slowly awoke the day after their escape and lay there for a time, letting her mind catch up on all that had happened. She had been captured by pirates, help prisoner by the ugliest brutes she had ever seen, and then broken out of said prison with the aid of the strangest two Beasts she had ever met. The fact that they were both Bounders, like herself, never entered her mind. She sllowly wrose and stepped over to the fire, and stoked it back up to full flame. About that time, the male woke up...

Fynn looked over at the muscular Bounder girl stoking the fire and thought _Hmmm...She looks like she's led a hard life...I wonder where's she's from? _He got up and wandered over to her, and was about to strike up a conversation when the other one awoke and came over, and he promptly shut his mouth and turned away.

Alanis set down silently, not looking towards the damn merc, and stared into the flames. _I wonder what she's doin' here? _She thought to herself, and decided to ask. "I am searching for my brother, he was lossed on board a ship coming from New Badari, the Emmer Essen." Alanis raised her eyebrows. "Really? An' what would ye be doin' in New Badari, lass?" Maighdlin, as she had said her name was, looked up and frowned. "That is where I grew up..." She said, obviously avoiding th question. They fell into an akward silence, and sat that way through breakfast, and for a long time after.

Maighdlin sat there for a long time, dwelling on the memories brought up by Alanis' curiosity, and when the elder Bounder stood up, it surprised her. "Come on, t'en, ye blighters! We've got to go see what we can do fer South Beach!" The merc, Fynn, was strongly against this, saying that they should get off the island as quickly as possible, until Alanis cursed him for a coward and he lost his temper. "Fine, t'en, ye old bag! Ye wanna get us killed? Well, t'en, come on!" And he stormed off in the direction of South Beach, and Alanis shrugged and followed. Maighdlin shook her head a little, got up, extinguished the fire, and followed...


End file.
